The Stepsister Scheme

well for yourself these days, old gnome!”
    “Shut up, Quink,” said Nexxle. “These three need mounts. Take care of them.”
    “We’re going to ride them?” Danielle whispered. Her heart pounded with a blend of fear and longing.
    “Aviars will get you to the chasm faster than anything save a dragon,” said Arlorran. He pulled an apple from the sack and hurled it out over the grass. Instantly, four of the aviars spread their wings and leaped. Their whinnies were higher in pitch than Danielle was used to, sounding uncomfortably like human screams. Unshod hooves lashed out as they fought to reach the apple. A brown-and-white stallion gave one last flap of his wings, knocking a gray mare toward the ground. He caught the apple neatly in his jaws, dropped down, and galloped away to enjoy his prize.
    “We’re going to ride them?” Danielle asked again, in a very different tone.
    “Have fun!” said Nexxle, grinning for the first time since they had met. She actually giggled as she disappeared back into the woods.
    Arlorran grabbed another apple. “Trust me. You try to cross Fairytown on your own, you’ll face all manner of trouble and challenges. These beasts will fly straight and true, and most importantly, they’ll keep you safe.”
    “Come on,” said Quink. “Let’s find you ladies some mounts.”
    The aviars backed away as Danielle and the others followed Quink down to the field. Some rustled their wings. The brown-and-white stallion nickered and reared. Wings spread, he balanced on his hind legs far longer than any normal horse could have.
    “How do you ride them?” Danielle asked.
    “Us? We use carriages.” Quink pointed to a spotted aviar near the back of the herd. A long, basketlike contraption was strapped to the aviar’s back. Two pixies sat inside, their light clearly visible through triangular windows. A third pixie stood on the beast’s neck, his arms and hands wound in the long mane. A thin riding crop, twice as long as his body, hung from his belt. “These aren’t pets, ladies. When pixies go to war, we can pack five or six warriors into every one of those carriages, firing arrows and casting spells in all directions while the rider controls the animal. That doesn’t even cover the damage a well-trained aviar can do in a fight.”
    “But you won’t be riding one of the warbeasts,” Arlorran said sternly. “Isn’t that so, Quink?”
    The pixie stuck out his tongue. “You’re no fun anymore.” He emitted a shrill series of chirps, and several of the other pixies began to lead aviars their way. Arlorran pressed an apple into Danielle’s hand, then did the same for Snow and Talia.
    “No loud noises or sudden movements,” said Quink. “On the ground, these fellows spook even easier than your horses.”
    Danielle smiled and held out her apple. She could see some of the other aviars snorting and stomping in their direction, but the pixies held them at bay. She stepped toward the leftmost aviar, a gray mare whose wings and mane were black as the ocean at midnight. Those wide blue eyes never blinked as she sniffed the apple. Slowly, she drew back her lips and plucked the apple from Danielle’s hand.
    The aviars smelled like fresh-cut hay, with a hint of a sharper, nuttier smell. “Can I touch her?”
    “Pretty hard to ride if you don’t,” Quink said.
    Danielle reached up to pet the fur on the side of the mare’s neck. One ear flicked back.
    “You’re beautiful,” Danielle whispered, stroking the neck. The aviar’s skin was warm, almost feverish, and the fur was stiffer than it looked.
    An orange pixie flew up beside the aviar’s head. He waited until she finished eating the apple, then slipped a brass bit into her mouth. The aviar took a step back, but the pixie was faster, darting around her head and buckling a light halter into place. The reins appeared normal, if longer than she was used to, but a third line ran along the top of the aviar’s nose. This line was knotted to the center of the reins, right between where the rider would hold on. Danielle stared. In the past month, she had barely gotten comfortable riding a normal horse. “How do I—?”
    That was as far as she got. The mare shook her head sharply, then sneezed. Spit, snot, and bits of apple sprayed over Danielle’s face and chest.
    “They’re not too fond of the bit,” Quink said, stifling a grin.
    Danielle wiped her face on her sleeve. To her left, Talia had already climbed onto a bay with